


breathing a hello

by addandsubtract



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Olympics, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: There’s no significance to them ending up here except that both of their lives are held in the sway of volleyball. Everything else comes second.That’s the crux of it, really.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 11
Kudos: 119





	breathing a hello

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just want to write a soft story about some people who want to kiss taking a walk at night.

It’s already dark outside when Shouyou hears the knock on the door to his hotel room. He’s back in Japan for the Olympics, settling into the Olympic village, and so far the days have been strung together with team meetings, preparatory training, interviews, and group outings to get the team gelled into a comfortable unit. He’s had barely a moment to himself, and certainly no time yet to catch up individually with Atsumu, Kageyama, Oikawa, or Bokuto.

When Shouyou pulls open the door, Atsumu asks, “Want to go for a walk?” He’s smiling, crooked, his expression fond and familiar. It’s not a surprise to find him there, posture slightly uncomfortable as he stands in the hallway, but it is a relief. Almost enough to make Shouyou forget how he’s been on the opposite side of the room at every team gathering to date. 

“Sure,” Shouyou says. He hasn’t yet changed into pajamas, and is still wearing the Japanese national team hoodie and shorts that he’d had on at their team dinner earlier, where Atsumu had spent his time protecting himself from Yaku, seated too far away for Shouyou to talk to. “Let me put on my shoes.”

Atsumu leans in the doorway, one leg crossed over the other, watching Shouyou bend down to tug on his sneakers and do up the laces. On closer inspection, his smile is brittle, some larger worry lurking underneath the surface. Shouyou gets it. They’re both trying not to make any missteps while they navigate being near each other again, and there hasn’t been any time. Not without an audience.

“Where did you want to go?” Shouyou asks, and Atsumu shrugs, sticking his hands deep into his pockets.

“Nowhere in particular, really,” he says. “Just feeling cooped up, I guess. Let’s wander.”

Shouyou nods, pats his shorts to make sure he has his phone and his room key, and follows Atsumu down the hallway and outside.

The Japanese national team is all housed on the same floor, in the same building as many of the other volleyball teams, maybe out of the assumption that they’ll mingle. It’s true that Shouyou knows several of the players on the Brazilian national team, and there’s Oikawa, of course. Kageyama, Ushijima, and Yaku have likely met a few Olympians in their various international experiences. The volleyball world isn’t a terribly big one. Whether they’ll do more than wave hi to each other when they pass in the hallways Shouyou doesn’t know. The games are starting at the end of the week, after the opening ceremony, and they’re all impatient.

Atsumu is still quiet when they start off down the sidewalk. Shouyou can tell he’s tense from the set of his shoulders, the way he’s hunched slightly, but he’s trying to play it off with his slow, casual pace, and the hands he still has stuffed into his pockets. Shouyou thinks about sliding one of his hands in Atsumu’s pockets, too, lacing their fingers together, but he doesn’t. Atsumu has been staying away, and maybe there’s a reason for that.

Shouyou didn’t think they left things that awkwardly, really. He’d hoped, at least, but distance is what it is. He’s been gone most of a year. It’s hard to know what has been rattling around in Atsumu’s head.

“Does my room look exactly like yours?” Shouyou asks, more to start them talking than real curiosity. Which Atsumu will know, of course. “All these years I’ve been dreaming about the Olympics, but a hotel is still just a hotel.”

“Mine’s the same but flipped,” Atsumu says. “Did you see the bowl of condoms by the elevator? Do they not trust us to be safe?”

“Probably not. We’re all dumb athletes aren’t we? That’s what Iwaizumi says, anyway.”

Atsumu laughs, soft. “He’d know.”

Without meaning to, their feet lead them toward the gym where they’ve been practicing since arriving. The main arena, where most of the volleyball games are going to be located, is further away, and they haven’t even toured it yet. Atsumu stops in front of the double doors, tilting his head back to take the whole building in. Shouyou stops next to him, examining Atsumu’s profile, the long line of his neck, the familiar swoop of his hair across his forehead.

“Are you sure you didn’t lead me here to practice quicks? I would’ve said yes, you know.”

“Nah,” Atsumu says. He doesn’t look at Shouyou, but Shouyou can see the curve of his mouth as he smiles. “I’m just a dumb athlete, remember? Ruled by muscle memory. Want to see if it’s unlocked?”

Shouyou glances over his shoulder, but there’s no one around — just pavement illuminated by streetlights, trees casting shadows on the wide sidewalks. “Let’s do it,” he says.

“You’re a rebel, Shouyou,” Atsumu says, but he steps forward first, and the doors open easily when he pushes. Shouyou follows him inside, his sneakers squeaking on the waxed floors. The main lights are off, but the windows high up on the side of the building let in slices of moonlight, ambient light from the streets, and it’s enough to see by.

The net has been wound up on one side of the court, and all of the balls are probably in a closet somewhere, but they really aren’t here for extra practice. There’s no significance to them ending up here except that both of their lives are held in the sway of volleyball. Everything else comes second.

That’s the crux of it, really.

Shouyou is about to mention it, the elephant in the room, when Atsumu speaks again. “I always liked the gym after hours, even in high school. ‘Samu used to come get me when I’d been pouting, and he always knew where I’d be.”

“What did you have to pout about?” Shouyou asks. They’re standing by the bleachers, so Shouyou steps up a few rows and sits down. After a moment, Atsumu follows him.

“Oh, a ton of things. Losing, unrequited love, homework — I’m capable of pouting about anything.” He laughs, and Shouyou has heard the sound a lot, in all sorts of situations: when Atsumu is making fun of his brother, when he’s letting the unbridled joy of winning a game lance through him, when he’s uncomfortable and trying to hide it. This is different from any of them, and after a moment Shouyou realizes he’s laughing at himself.

Shouyou studies him, the curve of his brow, the wide spread of his mouth, the sprinkle of freckles across his nose from the summer sun, and he thinks about all the things video chatting twice a week don’t tell you.

“Hey,” he says. “Not to be dire or anything, but is something going on I should know about?”

“No?” Atsumu finally looks at him, and it’s only when he does that Shouyou realizes Atsumu has been avoiding it since they left his hotel room, and that it’s been bothering him. “I’m not cheating on you, if that’s what you mean.”

“I didn’t really think so,” Shouyou says, because he hadn’t. “But you’re being — I don’t know. Weird. Distant.”

Atsumu snorts, but it’s not mean. More like he’s rolling his eyes at himself. “I just missed you,” he says.

“I missed you too.” Shouyou had, and in a way still does — they haven’t touched the whole time he’s been back. There’s been no time. It’s like they’re still half a world away from each other, looking through a screen.

“I know, but —“ He shrugs, shoulders tight. “Shouyou, no one knows we’re together. And that’s fine, it makes sense, and we decided it together, but I can’t — I can barely look at you around the team, because if I do I just know I’m going to do something horrible and obvious, like kiss you.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t find that horrible,” Shouyou says, and then laughs at the pained look on Atsumu’s face. “What? I’m just being honest. The repercussions might not be great, but kissing you is one of the perks of being in a relationship. One I haven’t been able to exercise recently, I might add.”

Atsumu sighs, tilting his head back to look at the rafters. Shouyou thinks about leaning forward and scraping his teeth along Atsumu’s exposed neck, but Atsumu doesn’t seem finished yet.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Atsumu asks. “Lying?”

Shouyou shrugs, hoping that Atsumu can see it in his peripheral vision. “Sometimes. But it’s harder for you — you’re playing with people who know me, who know your family. I can tell my teammates that I have a boyfriend back home and they don’t care or need to know who you are. How are you supposed to tell Bokuto you have a boyfriend in Brazil? You only know one person there.”

“Do your teammates really not care?”

“That I have a boyfriend? Not to my face. There are two or three who mind in private, but they’re professionals, and we’re not friends.” They haven’t talked about this much, and Shouyou figured it was because they’d made a decision about it, and that there was no need. Now he suspects it’s because Atsumu has been obsessing over it in private, the way he does with the things he’s not sure he’s ready to admit to.

Shouyou is tired of not touching him. They only have so much time here, and only so much of it together. He pulls himself up and swings one knee over Atsumu’s lap, straddling him. He cups his hands to Atsumu’s face, and tilts his head down, brushing both thumbs over his cheeks, that fascinating spray of freckles that weren’t there last time they saw each other in person. His skin is warm, familiar, and the brush of it underneath Shouyou’s palms is enough to make him ache. The missing doesn’t just go one way. It’s harder for Atsumu, lonelier, maybe, but Shouyou has been far away, thinking about being here, and that matters too.

Atsumu relaxes, the immediacy of it gratifying to Shouyou, his hands coming up to frame Shouyou’s waist and then sliding underneath his sweatshirt. Shouyou isn’t wearing a shirt underneath, and shivers at the cooler temperature of Atsumu’s fingers.

“We can reconsider, you know,” Shouyou says. “Making a decision once doesn’t mean we can’t change our minds.”

“I like that you still say ‘we’ even when it’s really me changing my mind,” Atsumu says. His voice is dry, but there’s affection underneath the surface that he can’t root out.

“Well, _we’re_ discussing you changing your mind,” Shouyou says and then squawks when Atsumu pokes him in the ribs with his impeccably manicured fingernails.

“I just want to stop feeling so self-conscious,” Atsumu says, almost a whine. “I’d like to sit next to you in the locker room or at dinner occasionally. I’d like to go back to your room without feeling like someone is going to catch us in the act.”

“You don’t have to figure it out by yourself,” Shouyou says. “Also I can’t help pointing out that you might want to kiss me in the locker room less overwhelmingly if you’d kissed me somewhere else in the last ten months.”

Atsumu laughs, and this one is more like it should be — genuine amusement and delight, close enough to Shoyou’s face that he can feel Atsumu’s breath, feel the way his cheeks scrunch up toward his eyes. Anyone who walked in now would know what they’re up to. They’re being cavalier because it’s after midnight, and Shouyou can’t make himself care. Being this close to Atsumu is a relief. Finally. _Finally_.

“You could kiss me now, you know.”

“In the arena where anyone could see us? Shouyou, you _are_ a rebel.” Atsumu’s voice is warm, his wide palms stroking up and down Shouyou’s back underneath his sweatshirt. He’s not pulling away, and Shouyou lets more of his weight settle on Atsumu’s thighs.

“You should have just come into my room, then we could do whatever we wanted,” Shouyou says, and Atsumu laughs, leaning down to brush their mouths together. 

It’s familiar, heady, everything that Shouyou has been idly thinking about in his limited downtime. Atsumu’s hands are huge, cupping Shouyou’s shoulder blades as he leans in, making sure Shouyou doesn’t topple off, tumble down the bleachers and injure himself. 

“No one is going to think it’s weird if we hang out,” Shouyou complains, muffled against Atsumu’s mouth. “You’re making things harder for no reason.”

Atsumu kisses him again, laughs, says, “I know, I can’t help myself. It’s just how I am.”

Shouyou thinks about the year he spent playing for the Black Jackals, how long it took Shouyou to convince Atsumu that his relationship with Kageyama wasn’t something he had to worry about, that Shouyou wasn’t going to hurt him, at least not on purpose. Atsumu is, and always has been, his own worst enemy. Shouyou knows him well enough by now to roll with the punches.

“It’s stupid, and I say this as someone who likes you a lot.” Atsumu’s fingers flex against Shouyou’s back, but he doesn’t deny it. Shouyou brushes his thumbs over Atsumu’s face, sliding them up into his hair. His roots are starting to show, just a little, enough that he’ll need to dye them again in the next couple of weeks. Shouyou brushes the bangs away from his forehead, and pulls him down for another kiss.

It’s easy to get lost in. It’s been so long since they’ve touched, every graze of their skin makes Shouyou feel electric, like there’s pure energy humming through him, like he could do anything. Like they could do anything together.

They really shouldn’t be doing this in public. They made the decision to keep their relationship quiet because telling everyone important would be the same as telling the whole world, and neither of them were ready for that. Exceptions for family aside, they’ve kept this secret for approaching two years, and Shouyou should have known that it might be too much. It’s easier to know in person.

“Please take me to bed,” Shouyou says, and then laughs at the way Atsumu colors, pink across his cheeks and neck. “Oh come on, I didn’t say anything scandalous. How about, ‘I wanna see you naked’.”

“Shouyou —” Atsumu does whine this time, leaning forward to hide his face against Shouyou’s shoulder. His hands slip further around Shouyou’s back, hugging him closer, until they’re pressed chest to chest, Shouyou’s knees on either side of Atsumu’s hips. “It’s really awful how much I missed you.”

Maybe it’s better that Shouyou can’t see his face at the moment, just the top of his head, the vulnerable arch of his neck, the points of his spine disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.

“Let’s go back, okay? You don’t have to miss me right now.”

Atsumu pulls back with a reluctant sigh. Shouyou is even more reluctant to slide off of Atsumu’s lap, finding his feet and stepping back down to the floor. Atsumu’s hands are back in his pockets, and now Shouyou knows for sure: they’re there so that they won’t be tempted to reach out, to pull Shouyou close, to hold his hand. The restraint is enough to make Shouyou bounce up on his toes and kiss Atsumu on the cheek.

They walk back, just enough space between them to approach something natural, even though they haven’t seen a single other person out this late. Shouyou’s face and hands feel cold, now that he’s not pressed to Atsumu, but he knows he doesn’t have to wait long. They’re not rushing, but they’re both impatient.

Atsumu follows Shouyou into his room, toes off his shoes, and sits on the edge of the bed. Shouyou locks the door, kicks his sneakers against the nearby wall, and then steps close, hands coming back up to frame Atsumu’s face.

“No one is thinking about what we’re up to right now,” Shouyou says. “But if you keep ignoring me in public someone is gonna suspect something is wrong.”

“I know,” Atsumu says. He pulls one of Shouyou's hands away from his cheek, kisses his palm. Shouyou shudders. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” His smile is crooked again, curving up helplessly. “It’s hard to stay mopey when you’re standing in front of me, looking like you want to kiss me.”

“I guess arenas after hours really do work wonders,” Shouyou says, and then squawks when Atsumu pulls him down.

“Nah, it’s all you,” Atsumu says, pressing his face close to Shouyou’s neck and kissing him there. It’s cute and tender, two of the things Atsumu tries his hardest not to be, along with vulnerable. He usually fails at all of them, at least where Shouyou is concerned. “Don’t tell ‘Samu.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Shouyou says. He scrunches his hand through the hair at the back of Atsumu’s head, rucking it up. “And I know exactly how you can repay me for my kindness.”


End file.
